


Busted

by i0n



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alcohol, Crossdressing, Host Clubs, In Public, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 17:44:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i0n/pseuds/i0n
Summary: Gintoki x hostess club! reader.... uh, wait.





	Busted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lusentoj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusentoj/gifts).



It's not your first night working at the hostess club. No, you've been working there for three nights straight, and the awful mix of smells in there is really starting to get to you – cheap perfumes, sweat, alcohol, cigarettes... things that may not be so bad one by one, but all together, hour after hour, night after night...

”Oi, new girl! Smile at the customers, I said!!!”

”Welcome!!”, you call out to the entering customers, making it loud enough to drown out any further comments from your whiny senior hostess.

Actually, you made it a bit too loud, and the lack of friendliness on your face – or, you know, the deep frown combined with the booming voice – just scared off three potential customers, almost stumbling over themselves as they went back the way they'd come.

”Listen, you!!”, your senior growls, suddenly in your face and with a firm grip on your borrowed kimono – you absent-mindedly hope that she doesn't harm it with her somewhat sharp painted nails, because it's actually rather pretty and probably expensive. ”Just because you're not here by choice it doesn't mean you can –!!!”

”Alright, alright, that's enough”, a senior senior, or owner, or whatever, suddenly interrupts from behind the two of you. She places a firm hand on the whiny girl's shoulder, smiling down at her with practiced calm. ”Let me take care of this one.”

”B-but ma'm –!”

” _Go powder your nose, sweetie”,_ the older one commands, and the younger one scampers off like a startled rat with a terrible wig.

You huff a little and click your tongue as this hostess queen gives you an intense stare. There's a silent moment in which you may or may not have had a glaring contest, and then she speaks, motioning briefly with her head as she turns.

”Come. Perhaps door-duty isn't the right place for a lady such as yourself.”

”There isn't any _right place_ around here for me!”, you protest, staying in place for a moment before you realise you don't _want_ to stay at the door, and leaving this shithole still isn't an option, not yet. You irritatedly start trailing after the woman.

”This is a place for everyone”, she speaks in a firm tone, no arguments accepted. Her back is turned to you as you walk down a short corridor. ”Young, old, fortunate, unfortunate, pretty, … less pretty. All should feel welcome here, where we unite in drinks and laughter, games and dances. So yes, there is a place for you here, as for everyone else.”

The corridor is dimly lit with warm light from a few lanterns reflecting off of a couple shiny, cheap wall decorations, probably bought at the 100-yen shop. The woman turns her head to glance at you.

”Besides, you look stunning in that kimono, don't tell me you want out of it. A pity it got damaged, but we'll try to fix that.”

You were about to object to everything she said, but lose your track, and find your frowning face turning a bit red at the – entirely coincidental (?) – words that spoke your mind. Not the ”stunning” part! Just those god-damn overkill fingernails scratching the fabric, which was clearly crafted with way more care than anything else in this glorified garbage dump. The dark, deep purple hue of it, the feel when you boredly slid your fingers over it... anyway... it's not like it matters.

You get more or less pulled into a small room, and pushed down into a chair. Again. It's maybe the fifth time in three nights, because apparently make-up gets disrupted when someone punches you, and apparently it gets disrupted when you drink too much, too. Both of those things will earn you a forced trip to the dressing room, but neither will give you a break from the job.

”Well then, how about this?”

Your reflection in the mirror doesn't actually seem to convey the level of disgust you feel. Maybe it's because you're so tired of this already.

”When hell freezes over!!!”, you yell, throwing the feathery _, glittery,_ pink boa in the woman's face.

She grabs it without flinching and puts it around her own neck, giving you a quiet chuckle as she reaches for something less playful.

”Relax, dear. We're going to make this work for you.”

Moments later, she's adjusting a loose, silky scarf around your neck, or more like around the collar of the damaged kimono. Knowledgeable hands work a pin or two into it in secret, keeping the styled look in place, though it must be damaging the fabric. Your nose momentarily scrunches up at the strange priorities.

”See”, the woman says. ”All better.”

When you reluctantly look at yourself in the mirror – glass partially dirtied with old or new lipstick marks – you might have been able to admit that you're one of the better-looking things in the room, or, you know, the entire neighbourhood, because it's Kabuki-chou. The bar isn't set that high.

You keep looking irritated and don't reply, besides a cough that escapes your throat when she starts dabbing at your face with powders and paint again.

”Yes... you want a different wig”, she states as she puts the make-up down, apparently having decided she's a mind-reader. It's not like you were thinking about that, though, not this time.

The uncomfortable mess of long synthetic fibers comes off, and you can't help but ruffle your hair a bit when the hair net comes off with it. Itchy, sweaty, ugly! What's good about those things? You wouldn't be able to believe that any customers actually liked the girls' awful ways of dressing and make-up unless you'd heard it yourself. _”You're so beautiful!”_ Yeah, right. That's the bottom of a bottle you're talking to.

Seconds later and your hair is forced back into the net, forced inside something just as stupid as the first one, but this one is put up into a hairdo, so there aren't as many loose strands annoying you everywhere.

”Don't like it?”, she asks, her lips pursed in question at your blank face.

”Who'd like these shitty costumes?” you answer, turning your eyes away and making sure your pose reads _uncomfortable and defensive_.

”Hm, it'll have to do”, she says, the smile obvious in her voice. She adjusts it on your head, making sure it looks right. ”I think you might feel more comfortable like this. Won't be in the way as much. You're a practical type, but practical doesn't have to mean boring.”

”I really don't care”, you mutter. ”Are we done now?”

”Sure”, she hums, just having added a flowery hair-pin of some sort to your wig. At least it matches with the kimono, she has _some_ sense of harmony.

You leave the dressing room together.

The club is the same as it's been every night. Some of the customers are very drunk, and some are even drunker. The girls are acting as if every conversation is so funny and the customers are so nice, all while pouring them another glass. Music plays, often accompanied by subpar dancing or singing performances.

”Here”, the woman tells you, guiding you with a firm hand on your back.

There's a slightly secluded seating booth in a corner that's currently abandoned, most customers gathered in the other end of the room, where the girls are dancing to the poorly-played shamisen. She makes you sit down, and you wonder if you're finally going to get a break to just sit alone, out of notice, and pretend you're not there.

”I'll send you a customer”, she continues cheerfully, and you sigh. ”Entertaining a bit more privately may suit you better... it's clear you've had a hard time working with the girls over these past days. But of course, don't see this as an excuse to fumble your job. I'll know about it, and I'm not letting you go until I'm done with you.”

She leaves. You scoot over close to the wall and slump in your seat, hoping she'll forget about sending you a customer if she can't see you, though you know you won't be that lucky. If luck had been on your side, you wouldn't have ended up here to begin with.

A minute or two passes, and you actually start relaxing a little bit. Sure, the place is as annoying as anywhere in Kabuki-chou always is, but not having the girls whining right in your ear or forcing you to dance, not having customers putting their hands anywhere near your body, or their stinky old-man breath by your face... Just a moment of respite, and you could almost imagine you were a customer instead of a ”hostess”. You just picked a particularly shitty place to have a drink tonight.

In walks your customer.

Yeah, this is the worst, stupidest, shittiest place to be tonight, alright!!!

”Yo~, wow, what's this sweet little lady sitting here all alone for?”, the dumbass smirks as he reaches the table, leaning towards you as he sits down, as if to get a closer look. ”Ah, could it be that that terrifying face keeps everyone away even at a joint like this? Maybe it's time to give up and get a new hobby... not that I realised this was your type of thing.”

”Look, anything you say right now will be used against you!! There's a huge freaking photo of you in a pink kimono showing leg right there on the entrance wall!!!”

”Oi oi officer, that's not me, that's Paako!! Though she obviously shares my handsome looks, can't blame you for getting us mixed up.”

”Handsome my ass!! Only this kind of place would keep a picture with your hairy leg in it!!!”

”You're saying you shaved for this, huh?? Huh?? Did you???”

He's right at your side and grabs for the edge of the kimono, but of course you catch his hands and force them away, shoving at him. He's laughing, and you've just grabbed his collar with murder in your eyes, when there's a loud slam and clinking of a tray with glasses on your table.

”Welcome!”, the mademoiselle from before says, a stern smile towards the two of you. Her fists could have snapped the tray in half without problems, but somehow everything's still on there, intact. ”Touko-chan, you've asked what our customer would like to drink, haven't you? You have to forgive her, Pa--, _ahem,_ Gin-san. She's still learning.”

The Yorozuya, smiling, places a hand on your fist and moves it away from his collar. You quickly pull it away from him, trying to move further away, but the wall next to you stops you from doing that.

”That's right, mind your manners, Tenko-chan”, he says in a fake complaining voice. ”It's hard for any girl to keep their hands off of me, but we need to at least have a drink first so we have an excuse ready for when we regret all of this later.”

”Shut up, you disgusting bastard!!!”, you snarl, the make-up having started feeling sticky and weird with your face heating up. Not that it wasn't sticky and weird to begin with. Err, not that your face is heating up that much, and only because you're pissed off and tired.

”Touko-chan!!!”, Mademoiselle Saigou reprimands, with a booming voice and a glare that could kill a man.

You freeze for a moment, then quickly adjust your position and your kimono, and make your expression blank. This needs to be over with as fast as possible.

”What would you like to drink, sir?”, you say in the most monotone voice you can manage.

You can sense the Yorozuya's dumb grin without having to look at him.

”Oo~h, that's better. Well then, I'd like a --”

”We still don't serve parfaits”, Saigou cuts in, smiling.

”Ah... that's right, that's right, this place was so low-class it doesn't even have parfaits”, the perm-head replies, now in an _honest_ complaining voice. ”Then I'll have --”

”Just so you know, if you're not paying upfront, Paako-chan will have to pay it off”, Saigou says. ”Just like last time.”

”... Gimme the cheapest you've got...”

The Yorozuya tiredly lays his head on the table as Saigou leaves, actually a bit deflated, to your enjoyment.

”Hey”, he says, looking up at you with a mildly furrowed brow. ”You gonna make some small-talk, Tenko – ah, _Touko_ -chan? I guess you do look like you lost some weight since that time, but to take on a whole new identity...”

”There's no way that and this is the same body, is there?!”, you growl in return.

”I don't know, a kimono can obscure a lot of things”, he answers boredly. ”Your face doesn't look as pointy as usual either... oh, wait, that's just that V-shaped fringe missing. Good riddance.”

”Even this shitty wig is better than your perm.”

”Is not.”

”Is --”

”Here's your drink”, a hostess who's not Saigou chirps, dropping off a bottle of something inexpensive and probably gross, suitable to the Yorozuya. She sends you a condescending smile, and you remember insulting her the other night after having been told to _dance more sensually_ a few too many times. ”You know how to pour a drink, right, Touko? I'm sorry if our new girl is causing you any trouble, sir.”

”Yeah, she is”, the Yorozuya drawls, slowly lifting his head off the table and slumping back in the seat. ”Coming here's like getting yelled at by your mom or something. Multiple moms, who're all actually loud sweaty men.” He pours himself a drink with a pose of habit. ”And the booze sucks. It's the worst host club ever.”

”Host _ess_ club”, the girl corrects, disinterestedly fixing her wig. The change of the look on her face seemed to you like she may have been interested in the perm-head until he started talking shit. ”Well, Touko-chan will do her best to cheer you up, won't she? And if you don't enjoy her company, you can always join the rest of us, who, you know, actually know how to have fun. We're easy to spot.”

She throws a last toxic glare at you before she walks off, but this time one that's actually not entirely your fault. You feel a sudden kinship with the Yorozuya, for both being the guys who really don't wanna be in here and just got told off, again.

At least he doesn't _seem_ like he wants to be in here, but then again, he did show up on his own accord.

”Why are you even here, you moron?”, you sigh, giving in to your urge to have a smoke, the pack carried in the sleeve of the kimono along with a smaller lighter than usual. They snatched away your cigarettes several times over the last few nights, because they made you look too scary and _unladylike_ , but it doesn't seem like anyone's going to care right now.

He watches you with a sideway glance as you light the cigarette, one of his elbows on the table to hold the glass.

”Come on now, who'd pass up a chance to see the demon vice-commander in drag? I bet I could sell pics of you like this to the highest bidder and it'd pay my rent for a whole year. Especially if I get a racy one... hey, we never settled whether you've shaved or not.”

”You're awfully interested in getting me to show skin”, you snort irritatedly, but your lips take on a teasing smile. ”I could have guessed this is the way you'd like it.”

”Hey now, what's that supposed to mean?”, he protests. ”I'm only in this for the money. And curiousity. Uh, not bi-curiousity... just regular old curiousity.”

”If you say so”, you smirk, your eyes narrow. He looks at you blankly.

”What are _you_ doing here, anyway?”, he sighs, looking away from you in favour of downing a drink. His face is already looking a little flushed. ”Yeah, I came because I heard from a reliable source that Saigou's been making you work, and the thought of you in lipstick was hilarious, but...”

”None of your business”, you answer, closing your lips around the cigarette.

”You insulted the fine establishment and its ladies, and now you have to work here until _Mademoiselle_ over there decides you've learnt some respect?”

You blow some smoke out and click your tongue. So he went through the same thing, after all.

”Nope.”

”There's a rumour of some perverted criminal frequenting this place, and you've gone undercover to catch him?”

Also true. That's how you ended up _being_ here to offend the hostesses to begin with, when they happened to get in the way. You were then told you wouldn't be allowed to stick around and do your job unless you also repented by becoming a hostess for the rest of your investigation.

However, after tonight, you're about to conclude that the rumour was unfounded, or that the guy caught wind of the investigation and stopped coming here. Three nights at this place, in drag, with no progress on the case...

”Nope”, you say again. ”That perverted criminal is right in front of me, right? Do I look like I was here waiting for you?”

”You kind of did, yeah”, the Yorozuya smirks, his pink-tinted face now leaning into his hand, elbow supported by the table. ”All alone and sad until Gin-chan came to entertain you. Isn't that kind of backwards for a host club? I guess you should be paying me.”

”Fuck off”, you mutter, blowing out some smoke.

He chuckles, grabbing the second glass off the tray and pushing it over to you, filling it up.

You frown, and you know it's shit, but you drink it anyway.

It'll help you pretend this is just another one of those nights where you somehow end up drinking with this guy, and it somehow isn't all that bad.

He glances over to the dancing and music across the room for a while. His attention is drawn when you refill your lipstick-stained glass, and he turns back to you, pushing his glass closer while smiling at you, calmly. You fill it up, and he drinks quite a bit of it in one go. You decide to do the same.

”Other than being forced to be a dragqueen in the line of duty, how's it going? The gorilla okay after that injury?”

You snort a bit fondly at the normality of the question. But that's how it's somehow never that bad, drinking with this silver-haired weirdo. When you're not in the middle of punching each other in the face, he's... sometimes... sort of... nice to be around. Sort of considerate.

Sort of watching you in a way that makes you feel seen.

”He'll be fine”, you say, sighing. You're feeling more and more relaxed, between the drink, the cigarette, and the familiar company. ”Kondou-san wouldn't get taken down by something like that.”

The wig's itching, so you scratch at it a bit in the back, wondering if you should just pull the thing off and go home already.

He's watching you.

”Touko-chan”, he says, his voice a bit low as he puts the glass down with a _clink_. ”Wanna play a game?”

”No”, you reply.

”Good”, he says, and suddenly he's closer. ”Let's stop playing.”

A firm hand grasps your thigh, a presence on top of your double layers of dress. At the same time, his face is at your neck, his nose taking in air off of your skin.

”O-oi!”, you protest through a quiet gasp, skin getting goosebumps. What the hell now?!

He squeezes your leg strongly, and you feel a jolt inside you in response. His face hovers by your jaw, you can feel the warmth of his body. The alcohol is making you a little dizzy.

”Yorozuya”, you say, pressing a hand to his chest to block him, but the push doesn't come. ”What the fuck do you think you're doing?”

”Getting down to business”, he replies, voice quiet. His hand has found its way through the open side of the kimono, sliding over your thigh, upward.

You think you should probably yell at him and kick his ass right now, but you'd somehow much rather he pressed his lips right below your ear, and – shit. Shit!

Since when did you want this?! It better have been way before getting into women's clothes... You're not that weak to suggestion, are you?

He gasps quietly, too, having your fist now pulling at the edge of his loose kimono, as his fingers ghost over your boxers, thankfully allowed to be kept on when everything else was switched out.

” _No bi-curiousity_ , I heard you say”, you whisper, an irritated edge to your voice out of habit.

He lifts his head a little bit, your eyes meet, and you feel watched way too closely. You try to stop your hips from moving on their own, stop yourself from wanting to push into his hand.

”It's true. I'd have to like women for that”, he whispers back, then returns his face to your neck and licks a line up to your ear, right as he gives you a squeeze through the boxers.

You gasp, not so quietly. Then feel some mild panic.

The other end of the room is still as loud as half an hour ago, the night still young. Nobody heard that, right? Nobody's seeing this, right??

Instead of coming to your senses and stopping him, you help his hands move to loosen your obi. As soon as it's untied, he slides a hand in across your collarbone, pushes fabric away to stroke your chest, and with your new freedom of movement, you lift a leg up on the bench, almost wrapping it around him as he gets even closer.

He stops momentarily, lifting a hand to your wig.

”This is cute”, he says in an every-day tone as he touches the flowery hair-pin. His hand briefly strokes the wig, then grabs it and pulls it off, hairnet coming off with it as he throws it aside. ”But I like you better like this.”

You pull him in by his collar, and he roughly grabs the back of your head, your real hair messy and sweaty, as he kisses you.

The jolts that fly down your body when your lips meet are surreal, and then your tongues – you really, really need to stop this before it goes too far. Dammit, it's already gone too far!!

”N-not here”, you whisper through quick breaths.

”Huh?”, he whispers back, one hand in your hair, one at your side.

” _Not --”_

He leans back a little to face you. Which brings your words to a halt and makes you stare, and he's staring at you, too.

A beat passes.

”...Let's get rid of the make-up”, he says seriously, lipstick here and there around his mouth like a toddler painted it on.

”...Yeah”, you nod, seriously. You probably look sort of like him but worse.

”...How about continuing somewhere else?”, he asks.

”...Yeah”, you nod.

The Yorozuya thinks the two of you succeeded in sneaking out unnoticed, but you saw Saigou turn to look straight at you for a second as you headed towards the back door of the club. You hoped that your dishevelled form might look like you just had a fight, but she was smiling.

She turned away again after, and you left in silence.

You wonder if you're really that easy to read.

**Author's Note:**

> before anyone's confused and asks, i wrote this for my friend who was complaining about how "character x reader fics would be better if they just wrote the reader as another character and pretended it was an OC!"  
> (i don't think fans of "x reader" fics would agree :-p )
> 
> so the whole intention here was that, as a joke, this could sound like a self-insert fic until you get to a point where suddenly it became clear who the characters actually were. hope that clears up any questions.


End file.
